


hypnotic, takin' over me

by Nikiforlove



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cafe AU, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, M/M, Matchmaker Phichit Chulanont, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Thirsty Victor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky Is So Done, more like, this was supposed to be part of another au but it grew its own, viktor is in love and never wants out, viktor nikiforov??, viktor thanks god, viktor thirstyforov, yuuri is a god, yuuri still skates but he has achieved more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikiforlove/pseuds/Nikiforlove
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov is 28, a hopeless romantic, and is searching for love. No, not one-night stands, or a casual fling, but love. So when he finds himself hopelessly enamoured with his cafe’s newest regular, a man who he knows as ‘Yuuri’ (because he shoves Yurio off the counter whenever he arrives, and proceeds to play barista for awhile), who in fact, is the most beautiful man Viktor has ever met, soft looking ebony locks, deep blue spectacles that frame his blush-ridden face perfectly, the melodic voice of an angel, the eyes of chocolate and desire, the most fucking addicting laugh (the kind that spreads to his face, eyes crinkling, lips turning, nose scrunching, subconsciously tilting backwards to let his bangs fall over his face, that kind of laugh), within the span of two months, he knows he’s screwed.





	hypnotic, takin' over me

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to use this for a different prompt, but it didnt look like it would piece together nicely, so this developed a story of its own.
> 
> enjoy??
> 
> also i tried a different writing attempt? more comedy? sorry
> 
> (title from zella day's hypnotic)

* * *

* * *

 

“Hi, good morning, what can I get for you?”

 

“Ah, Oolong tea, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

Then, Viktor makes the decision that would come to shatter his world 0.2 seconds later; he looks up. He looks up because  _ wow,  _ that was first time he wanted the words “Oolong tea, if you wouldn’t mind,” on loop for twenty hours, uploaded on Spotify and iTunes, blasting on his store twenty-four hours a day, set as his ringtone, his notification buzz, he wanted all the words coming out of everyone and everything’s mouths to be “Oolong tea, if you wouldn’t mind.” (but then he realizes that everyone and everything’s voices would be incapable of reciting the sentence perfectly, with the same accent, lilt and pitch, so--)

 

“Hello?” 

 

And then his hands grip the counter with immense force, because  _ wow, holy shit, _ a god just stepped in my cafe. His gaze falls on sweet, smooth, chocolate hued orbs, staring back at him with a worried look, and he finds his throat grappling to produce a coherent reply. Sadly, a choked gurgle of half-formed words slipped out instead. But before the ideas of humiliation and self-pity come barreling into his mind, the man stifles a  _ giggle _ , and suddenly, the world has redeemed itself, the sun is smiling, and Viktor’s heart lurches painfully. He can feel his face twist into a look of longing and desire when he realizes, that the way his eyes laugh is even more stunning, twinkling and shining in broad daylight, threatening to outshine the  stars in the sky.

 

“R-right, sorry. Y-your name?” He asks, gulping very audibly as the seconds until the man’s reply seem like hours, knees shaking when the man’s lips part to form a word.

 

“Yuuri.”

 

The way the name rolls off his lips so effortlessly, it lovingly ensnares Viktor in his vicious trap for the last time before Viktor can confidently say, that he’s  _ whipped. _

 

(thank the gods he had to proxy for the barista who’d called in sick for the day, thank you so fucking much for catching a fever, Yurio, thank you) (also get better soon please, i don’t know how to deep clean the coffee machine)

 

* * *

 

When the chimes of the door opening rings, Viktor looks up from the coffee machine tiredly. After two whole days of faithfully eyeing each customer to walk in his shop, one would be as tired as Viktor was. But finally, finally, finally,  _ finally _ , his efforts bore fruit.

 

Light-consuming, ebony hair bounced softly with each stride the customer takes, and that’s all Viktor has to see before sprinting to the counter and locking Yurio in the kitchen with a harsh shove, desperately trying to make himself look natural and composed. The angry shouts and thuds coming from behind him failed to aide his distress. 

 

Then, all his doubts melt away when soft, chocolate eyes hidden behind a pair of lovely blue spectacles, an accessory Yuuri did not have two days ago, find themselves locked with Viktor’s aching blue orbs. His legs buckle, chest beating quite erratically. 

 

“Hi, one Oolong t--”

 

Viktor ducks down and grabs a pre-made cup of Oolong from the lower shelves he’d been re-filling every thirty minutes since he’d met Yuuri. Because it never hurt to prepare, right? Was it creepy, though? Maybe. He slides it across the counter in breakneck speed, wondering if he’d broke a world record.

 

“O-oh,” Yuuri stutters, a pretty blush shading his cheeks down to his neck. 

 

Viktor finds his teeth worrying his lower lip, his mind flashing with the desire to tug Yuuri’s sweater down to see how far that lovely shade of rose reaches, and the room seemed to heat up, a small part of his heart beating in guilt for his greedy, perverted mind. He’s snapped into reality by a tender hand clasping a five-dollar bill, reaching towards his own.

 

In Viktor’s brain, a fuse blew. 

 

He needs… he needs to take a moment. He takes a deep breath, eyeing those long, slender fingers, his soft-seeming skin, a real and tangible hand reaching out to him. The thought of who it was connected to caused his heart to beat an erratic rhythm, and Viktor does not have an ‘M.D’ attached to his last name, (Viktor Nikiforov, M.D. It  _ does _ sound sexy,) but he’s 100% sure that it is not good for his health.

 

You might think that it’s incredibly stupid for a shop owner to become flustered at the idea of accepting a bill from a (very good-looking) customer, but what could he say? This didn’t happen before! Last time, he  _ slid _ the cash across the counter. He  _ slid  _ it. There’s a difference! And now he was actually handing it to him, with actual his  _ actual hand _ , holy hell. (Viktor realizes it’s just the fact that it’s  _ Yuuri _ that makes him panic.)

 

Slowly, slowly, relishing the  moment, he stretches his hand out to grasp the damned piece of paper. Viktor nearly chokes when his fingertips reach out and brush against Yuuri’s, plus, his knees buckle and actually  _ do _ give out this time, stumbling down and hitting his chin on the counter. His heart burns with the pangs of shame. (He hears Yurio laughing in the kitchen, that little shit.)

 

He opens his eyes to the face of heaven  _ extremely _ close to his face.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Viktor meeps.

 

* * *

 

“Yurio!”

 

“That’s not my fucking name, old man!”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me that my Yuuri came?”

 

“Did Oolong come in? I didn’t notice. Pretty fucking unremarkable, if you ask me.”

 

“You blind fool! How dare you betray me? I walk out of my kitchen to see Yuuri lounging on the chairs and you didn’t inform me?!” Viktor cried, “And it’s not Oolong, it’s Yuuri!”

 

“But that’s  _ my _ fucking name!”

 

“It sounds way prettier on him,” Viktor says dreamily, ogling the man from afar.

 

“Shut up! Stop being so gross-- oh look, he’s leaving! Ha! Loooser,” Yurio drawled in a menacing voice, barely tilting his head from his cellphone screen. “Rude,” Viktor scowled,  “And no phones during shifts!” he swiftly grabbed the teenager’s phone from his hand, slipping it into his pocket.

 

“You fucking piece of shit, I swear to god, if you don’t give it back, I’m going to to throw Potya’s litter on your bed when we get hom--”

 

“Shhh! Shut up! Have you seen what he’s wearing?”

 

Yurio didn’t even spare a second’s glance. “I don’t know, I don’t  _ want _ to kno--”

 

“Look! He’s wearing leggings and a sportshirt!”

 

“So? He does sports! I do sports, you do sports, half the world does sports, it’s not a fucking surprise,” he scowls, placing a hand on his hip.

 

“Yes! But look at his  _ ass,  _ Yurio! Is that a fucking six-pa--”

 

“STOP BEING NASTY, SHUT UP! I’M LITERALLY YOUR  _ KID _ BROTHER YOU FUCKING BAD INFLUENCE, SHUT UP!”

 

“Language, Yura!”

 

“You piece of shi--”

 

“Yurio, his thighs! Oh my god, I’ve never been this happy watching a person walk out the door, his thighs! Vkusno!”

 

“Are you fucking shitting me--”

  
  


* * *

 

 

The moment Oolong walks in, Yurio slinks into the kitchen, stealthily avoiding his sprinting brother barging from the storage room, hitting the register with his elbow. He snorts at his muffled cries.

 

Settling himself by the kitchen door, he whips out his phone. It’s always best to record these instances, after nearly pissing himself from laughter when Viktor fell and hit his chin on the counter. He zooms it in to frame his brother and Oolong nicely. 

 

He never did understand why Viktor seemed so taken with this fatso, he seems so fucking plain. Always ordering shitty Oolong tea and nothing else, always sitting in the same fucking spot by the window, he never left an impressionable mark. And that was… lame. Yurio vowed to never like someone as stupid as Oolong. But _ hey, _ he makes his brother do stupid shit, so that’s a positive.

 

He sees Viktor fidgeting when Oolong comes to order, and he spots the ready-made cup of Oolong tea already resting on the counter’s lower shelf. Honestly, that was kinda obsessive. It was like the John F. Kennedy Eternal Flame except it was the Yuuri Eternal Oolong or something. If he was Oolong, he’d stop coming to this place, forever naming it as the ‘Cafe Where Weird-Ass Old Barista Keeps Oolong Tea Ready-Made Just For Me And Is Obviously Kinda Creepy: Never Visit Again’ but then again, it was either that Oolong was really fucking stupid, or really fucking oblivious.

 

Wait, wait, that’s weird. Viktor’s preparing coffee too? What the fuck, Oolong. It was his first time ordering something that  _ wasn’t _ Oolong tea in what? A month and a half? Looks like Viktor’s weirded out too, he usually gets coffee ready in fifteen seconds, not two minutes. That’s slow. Even for an old baldie like Viktor. But okay, fine, whatever. It’s not illegal to order Oolong and coffee together, now was it? 

 

Yurio’s gaze fell on Viktor’s hand swiping a take-out bag from the shelves-- hold up, take out? Oolong’s getting take out? Haha, Viktor’s gonna be so disappointed, he won’t be able to stare at him for another hour. Yurio feels the grin of relief twist his lips.”Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, because Viktor’s always so fucking gross when he does that. 

 

So, Oolong picks up his pair of drinks and leaves with a small smile. Simple as that.

 

He snorts at his brother’s dejected aura as Viktor continues to gaze longingly out the shop’s glass walls. 

 

Sighing, Yurio kicks back and leans into the uncomfortable chair, deleting the video. Not much happened anyways, damn. He was hoping that Oolong would wink or something and Viktor would drop the cup of Oolong on him (it was very probable, mind you), that’d be hilarious.

 

“Yuraaaaaaaaa,” Viktor hums dazedly, slowly opening the door to the kitchen. “I never knew it was possible to fall even _ deeper _ , good god, what have I done in order to deserve this angel of a man into my life?

 

“He just got take-out, aren’t you supposed to be depressed or someshit?” 

 

Viktor replies with a drawn-out, dreamy sigh, leaning on the coffee-maker.

 

“You nasty,” Yurio growls, trudging back into the counter. They were both so fucking weird. He sighs and leans on the counter when he spots the familiar tuft of ebony hair and the glints of dark blue glasses that he had long since associated to Oolong.

 

He was sitting at the corner of their store outside, leaning on the glass wall. Beside a dingy homeless man, of course. Oolong held his fucking Oolong, while the man held the cup of coffee in his hands like it was a gem, eyes gazing at Oolong with so much gratitude and hope, Oolong smiling back with the most genuine grin he’d ever seen; an easy conversation flowing between the two.

 

Yurio gnashes his teeth in frustration, what a fucking weirdo.

 

(And Yurio stares in wonder, and thinks,)

 

What a fucking lame-ass, piece of shit.

 

(He thinks that Oolon-- that Yuuri is nice.)

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri walks in with another person draped around his shoulders, and Viktor feels disturbed, internally screaming ‘ _ no, stop, that’s my Yuuri, hands off please, do not touch’ _

 

A tan man, hair falling short just above his eyes, lips in a full pout and currently whispering something into Yuuri’s ears. 

 

Yuuri laughs.

 

He laughs his beautiful laugh that Viktor manages to hear whenever he does something stupid, the kind of laugh that spreads to his face, eyes crinkling, lips turning, nose scrunching, subconsciously tilting backwards to let his bangs fall over his face,  _ that _ kind of laugh, and he’s gorgeous.

 

Viktor feels more than irked that it wasn’t him causing that laugh to sprout. 

 

Yurio, on the other hand, walks out of the restroom, reads Viktor’s expression, spots Oolong and the man, and pieces it together. “Pfft,” he snorts, beelining for the kitchen. “Goodluck,” he songs teasingly.

 

He’s about to respond with a witty quip when the pair bumps the counter, mumbling between themselves whilst looking at the menu above. He’s forced to lay off his incessant mocking on Yurio ‘till later.

 

“Oolong and--” Yuuri starts, quickly cut off by:

 

“-- A mocha frappuccino, extra whip, extra drizzle, and  _ extra whip _ ,” the man bubbles, wiggling his eyebrows at the last addition. Yuuri scolds him quietly, almost too soft, but Viktor manages to pick up: “Phichit, Celestino’s gonna kill you if you don’t follow the diet,” which the other man simply laughs to,  _ still _ annoyingly draped around Yuuri’s shoulders. 

 

Viktor doesn’t say anything, he just shoots a dazzling smile towards Yuuri, and the dirtiest glare he’d ever given (or received, which says a lot, because you wouldn’t believe how angry people could get every time he apparently ‘steals their girlfriend’. He refrains pointing out that he dances at the other side of the ballroom) to this  _ Phichit _ . The sudden surprise that jumps on the tanned man’s face makes it clear to Viktor that his message has been received. 

 

He gently lifts the premade Oolong from the shelf, winking at Yuuri when he places it in front of him, turning around to hastily make  _ Phichit’s _ whatever the fuck he ordered, mocha frap, he remembers, angrily squirting the tiniest bit of whip cream he’d seen, (violently?) setting it beside the Oolong tea.

 

_ Phichit _ raises an eyebrow at his drink.

 

“Uh, I said extra whi--”

 

“Sorry, we just ran out,” Viktor feels his lips smiling coldly, trying to pass on his death threats via telepathy.

 

“Oh, okay.” And when  _ Phichit _ pays, Viktor has a half-thought of throwing his money back at him if only he left his Yuuri alone. They settle on Yuuri’s usual spot, talking between themselves. Happily.

 

“Fuuuuuck,” Viktor sighs sadly, of course Yuuri’d be dating someone, he’s Yuuri! Viktor would slap a person foolish enough not to fall head-over-heels over Yuuri, dunking him into a manhole. But Viktor wishes it was him sitting across Yuuri, oh, what he’d do for something as sublime as that.

 

“He taken?” Yurio whispers from the Kitchen window. 

 

“Don’t remind me,” he replied bitterly, face stuck in a sunken look of helplessness and longing.

 

“Sad,” Yurio offers before slamming the window shut.

 

Sad indeed. 

 

After half an hour of daydreaming and longing looks from Viktor, the pair finally stands up to leave, heading for the door when Phichit says: “Go ahead Yuuri, just a quick restroom break.” And Yuuri nods, smiling cutely, stepping out to hail a cab.

 

Meanwhile, Phichit heads straight to Viktor, and Viktor is sure that he was born as a human, not a restroom.

 

“Listen buddy, Yuuri likes Katsudon, the color blue, skating, Oolong tea, and he’s the most precious, sweet, talented, and beautiful thing on this universe, so if you hurt him even in the slightest, I will find you and snap your neck into two,--” he grabs the russian’s name tag, “--Viktor.” 

 

Viktor stands wide-eyed, nodding slowly. _ “Da,” _ he shoots out.

 

“Good luck,” he whispers, an innocent smile flashed before bouncing out to catch up with Yuuri.

 

_ Not _ what he expected.

 

Well, at least Viktor’s back in the playing field.

 

* * *

 

 

Okay.

 

It was time.

 

This is it.

 

He’s going to do it. He’s gonna ask Yuuri out. Today.

 

Or whenever he visits next.

 

_ ‘Kring!’ (does a chime make this noise? Viktor forgot. The chime could scream ‘ding-dong!’ for all he cared, he just really, really, really, wants to see Yuuri again, and he does not particularly care about anything else at the moment.) _

 

A familiar ebony-haired man walks in.

 

That would be today, he supposes.

 

So Viktor prepares, frantically running his hand through his hair, tucking the loose strands into place, his hand already set on the premade Oolong tea. He pats down his apron, smoothening any creases, quickly straightening his name tag. He lets the brightest megawatt smile overtake his lips, eyes flying to meet Yuuri’s. 

 

But… he feels off. His movements are more flustered, and his face seems to be tinted just a shade pinker than normal. Viktor’s about to greet him when he slams a hand on the counter and leans forward, unwittingly passing on his tinted shade to Viktor’s own cheeks now.

 

“Yuu-”

 

“Date!” He whisper-screams, quickly blowing up right after. “Ah, I mean! Would you-- you like to go o-on a d-date? W-with me?” 

 

Viktor wants to  _ scream.  _

 

“Yes,” he answers almost immediately, delighted at the hue on Yuuri’s cheeks raising another level pinker.

 

“That-- that’s good,” he breathes out in relief, as if there was any chance that Viktor’d refuse his offer. “I thought you’d say n--”

 

“Can I kiss you?” He finds his lips moving, his Larynx producing sound that his brain had not wanted, well, wanted to  _ disclose _ , anyway. 

 

The man in front of him gulps visibly and audibly, wide eyes landing on Viktor’s, mouth slowly curling into a small smile. “I-I, okay?”

 

And that’s all the confirmation Viktor needs before leaning in and locking lips with Yuuri, a blast of color spreading across the room, and everything seemed more vibrant, livelier. But that’s all Viktor can remember, because soon after, he closes his eyes, deeply invested with kissing Yuuri’s lips dry. Suddenly, the sweet chocolate of his eyes are expressed in his mouth, his soft skin is in his lips, pressing, and pressing, and pressing on Viktor’s.

 

He feels electricity crackling in the air when Yuuri smiles against his lips, kiss turning slow and soft, and Viktor nearly honest to god  _ cries _ when Yuuri breaks it off.

 

“Katsuki,” he re-introduces himself once he pulls away, leaving Viktor with the urge to pull him back in, missing his warmth already. “Yuuri Katsuki.”

 

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he responds accordingly, a fond look making it to his eyes.

 

Yuuri flushes.

 

“Now… date time?” he asks hopefully, swiftly swinging himself over the counter and out, before the other man can slide in a reply. Slinging his arm around Yuuri’s, he begins to make for the exit.

 

“D-don’t you have to ask your manager for permission to leave, or something?” Yuuri asks softly, lips positioned in a slight pout.

 

“ _ Zolotse _ , you’re looking at the _ store owner _ ,” he smiles, quickly pushing the door open with a wink.

 

“Oh,” is all Yuuri manages to say before Viktor pulls outside, staying still and immovable.

 

Yuuri looks at him in confusion, not sure whether he’s supposed to lead Viktor somewhere, or if Viktor just saw a squirrel on a tree.

 

“Here we are!” He says after ten seconds of silence, opening the cafe door open again, both stepping in. 

 

Yuuri gawks. “ _ In your own store _ , are you reall-”

 

“It’s cheaper, and I can spoil you all I want,” he smiles cheekily, leading Yuuri to a seat.

 

Once seated, Viktor stares into Yuuri’s eyes, resting his chin on a downturned palm.

 

“So, Yuuri, do you like dogs?”

 

“I used to have a poodle.”

 

“Wonderful! I have one too, her name’s Makkachin! Photos?”

 

Yuuri nods fervently, not at all fazed by the entwinement of Viktor’s fingers around his.

 

* * *

 

(“I own a cafe, what about you?”

 

“I uh, I skate.”

 

“Locally?”

 

“Internationally.”

 

“Internationally?! Have you won anything?”

 

“Uhm, I-- um.”

 

“It’s okay if you haven’t, Yuuri! Competing internationally is already something to be pro--”

 

“A silver and two golds at Worlds, three golds at Four Continents, two bronze and three golds at The Grand Prix, and gold in the Sochi Olympics?” He blurts in a single breath, shoulders tense and peeking at Viktor from under his eyelashes shyly.

 

_ “What.” _

 

“Vikto--”

 

_ “What?!” _

 

“Viktor, are you crying?”)

**Author's Note:**

> holy shit i just realized this sucks shit ughguhghghhh this is what i get for writing at 2 am with colds
> 
> (i'm working on a eros and psyche au, does that sound good to you? feedback is GREATLY appreciated.)
> 
> kudos and comments fuel me!


End file.
